


Elite Dangerous: Valkyries

by MightyMackinac



Category: Elite Dangerous (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Original Character(s), Space Battles, Space Pirates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:34:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23308423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MightyMackinac/pseuds/MightyMackinac
Summary: Follow the Valkyries and their Capital Ship, the Valhalla, on their many missions!
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20





	Elite Dangerous: Valkyries

**Author's Note:**

> Made with love for Elite Dangerous.
> 
> Please note, creative license has been taken with some aspects of the universe.

Humanity had always dreamed of reaching for the stars. From the old-Earth Space Race of the 20th century, where humans left their terrestrial mother to stand on Luna, to the first Faster-Than-Light engine, created in the early 22nd century, humanity pushed the envelope of exploration beyond their wildest imaginations.

Since its creation, FTL travel has enabled humanity to expand across the stars. They've built colonies, cities, and stations, leading to the rise of galactic superpowers: the Federation, the Empire, and the Alliance. The galaxy's vast wealth of minerals, water, and life-bearing planets makes them wealthier every day; the wealth of the major factions attracts powerful people who scheme daily to gain power.

In the year 3306, the middle-classes can afford spaceships the way those in the 20th century could afford cars, giving them tremendous freedom. Space trade is seldom hampered by politics, and Pilots are encouraged to do all kinds of jobs and tasks, from running supplies between stations to eliminating pirates in rival systems. The planet-spanning mega corporations employ entire nations and rule unchecked over vast sections of the galaxy; little has changed for those in the bottom of society since the old-Earth's dark ages. With weapons being readily available, most people are inclined to shoot first. The general lawlessness of space, inequality, the greed of the galactic elite, navigational hazards, and fierce creatures on planets make it a dangerous galaxy.

The Federation, born from the ashes of the United States of the Americas after a devastating nuclear World War III in the late 21st century, is the oldest and largest faction. A representative democracy based in the Sol system, its reach spans most of the Bubble of Humanity, protecting allied and aligned systems, ensuring its citizens’ prosperity. 

The Empire of Achenar, a tumultuous and opulent society, rules over half of known human claimed systems. The hereditary monarchy is diametrically opposed to the Federation; despite a formal peace treaty, the two factions engage on a regular basis. The Empire values wealth and influence above all else, the wealthy rule totally and use legal slave labor and human cloning, the counter to the Federation’s use of robotics and equal and fair trade for all.

The Alliance of Independent Systems was founded to reject the strict hierarchy of the Empire and the capitalism of the Federation, being a beacon of human rights, democracy, and autonomy. Allied systems, through mutual military cooperation and defense, protect themselves and each other from infringement from the Federation and the Empire. A parliamentary democracy that values human rights and freedom above all else, the Alliance often finds itself mixed in with Federation and Empire skirmishes, defending its members and protecting their interests.

The foundation of the Pilot’s Federation in 2805 was sparked by the rise of independent pilots, seeking to make their mark on the Galaxy, strike it rich, or to explore all that there is to explore. A neutral faction devoted to the support of pilots rather than any political or economic faction, created the GalNet, a galaxy spanning data network used by all factions. Pilots are assigned the designation Commander, regardless of rank with any one faction, and are ranked independently based on combat, trade, and exploration experience.

A thousand years after the first FTL jump to Alpha Centauri, Admiral Nathaniel Alexander was fresh off his last tour as an Admiral of the Federation, given a courteous farewell party, and left to his own devices. The Federation had used his tactical experience and leadership to the fullest, sending the Federation fleets under his command into battle time and time again for over 50 years.

And now, it was over. Peace was his at last.

But a person born of the fight, born from fire and blood and metal, will not stay still so easily.

In his retirement, Alexander searched for his place in the wide and vast galaxy that humanity called home. It wasn’t until the transport ship he was traveling on was attacked by pirates that he felt the spark of his legacy burst to life.

He vowed that day that if his life of blood and tears was over, that he would use all that he was and had to make a better life for those that needed it most. And with his resolution set in stone, he drew his plan and began searching.

Searching for those that would risk it all for anyone who needed help.

* * *

Alexander swirled the finger of whiskey in his glass slowly, staring out at the lights and stars that were whipping past his office window, his brow furrowed, deep in thought and memory.

_“Pardon the intrusion, Admiral. Exiting Witchspace FTL in 90 seconds.”_ A cool female voice drifted down from the speakers embedded in the ceiling.

He blinked, pulling himself from his revery.

“Thank you, Munin.” His gruff, deep voice sounded tired and anxious. “Please let Lieutenant Williams know that I will be right out.”

He stood and straightened his officer’s jacket, the white linen crisp and pressed, a gift from a friend within the Federation, a relic from his days commanding the Federation fleets. He stood six foot three inches tall; despite his many years of service, he had maintained his stature meticulously. Years of microgravity tend to make the bones brittle, only constant exercise and proper nutrition staving off most of the damage. His close cut brown hair and beard was flecked with salt-and-pepper gray, framing his rugged chin. Intelligent and curious brown eyes sparkled as he glanced around the Commanding Officer’s Office absentmindedly.

Setting the glass down on his ancient oaken desk as he walked to the center of the room, he pulled on his jacket one last time. He took a steadying breath and briskly walked towards the auto-door leading to the bridge, a determined and confident look on his face. The door opened with the soft hiss of compressed air, then sealed his office behind him as he strode with purpose onto the bridge.

_“CO Alexander on bridge. XO Campbell is relieved.”_ Munin’s soft voice announced.

As Alexander gazed around the bridge, he couldn’t help but enjoy the view, just as he did every time. Three pilot’s chairs, each with multiple holographic displays in front of them, took up most of the room of the bridge. In front of the stations, an enormous reinforced glass cockpit window and display. Beyond that, the long view of the top deck of the _Valhalla_ , in all of its shiny glory, and a tunnel through spacetime, warped by fields of energy, pushing the ship through lightyears in just minutes. The flashing lights and streaks of gold, white, blue, red, and sometimes purple were mesmerizing to him, even after nearly 80 years in the service.

“Admiral, good afternoon.”

Alexander turned to see his executive officer, Captain Owen Campbell, saluting him from his Executive Officer’s station to the left of the Commander’s station. Campbell’s appearance betrayed his age, the veteran of the Federation had 30 years of service under his belt, but his dark blonde hair, neatly trimmed, showed no signs that he was turning 55 this year. His face was angular, and despite his stockier and shorter build, he wore the gray officer’s uniform well, the slimming material giving him a commanding presence.

Alexander returned the crisp salute and a nod, before climbing into the Commander’s chair in the center of the bridge, the holographic displays adjusting automatically to his preferences, changing from the stock neon orange to bright, alert green.

“Good afternoon, Captain. How are the preparations?” Alexander asked as he glanced at the Heads Up Display in front of him.

“Sir. The _Valhalla_ is running like a dream. Greensborough’s improvements to our Frame Shift Drive are holding steady. We have been tracking a seven percent reduction in power consumption and three percent reduction in thermal generation.” Campbell stated, his voice steady and firm, his delivery quick and to the point. His many years serving under the Admiral gave him plenty of time to understand the Admiral’s appreciation of details.

Alexander nodded thoughtfully before speaking, “Excellent. Be sure to pass on my thanks. How about the fleet?” He regarded the fleet HUD to his left this time, a detailed report of each ship under his command on the display. He noted the decrease in tonnage on a couple of ships; several modifications required the removal of unneeded equipment to save as much room and weight as possible.

“Greensborough and her team report that the only conversions left to complete are the swap on the _Jord_ and the _Loki_. She, uh, mentioned that the conversions that you asked for, and I’m quoting her on this, ‘are a huge waste of engineering talent and a stupid fucking idea,’ Sir.” Campbell said, a little bit of exasperation in his voice.

Alexander gave him an appraising look for a couple of seconds before letting out a bark of laughter, a wide smile breaking on his face.

“Well, I supposed I deserve that one,” he mused. “She’s probably right. Converting a massive fuel tank into an emergency med bay. If I had suggested that when I was younger, I would have been spaced for lunacy.”

He looked to his right at the only other person on the bridge.

“Lieutenant Williams. Anything new to report?”

Lieutenant Andrea Williams, a young woman with a soft smile, a small nose, and long dark red-brown hair up in a tight bun, looked up from her communications station to address the Admiral. 

“Sir. Nothing so far. The report from the station is still unclear on how many hostiles. We’ll have to scan as soon as we get closer to get a better idea of their numbers.”

Alexander nodded, “Agreed. Excellent work, Lieutenant. Thank you.”

She beamed a bright smile at him before turning back to her station, returning to her work analyzing communication on the GalNet and other outside sources, hoping to glean some new information for their mission.

_“Attention Crew. Exiting FTL in 15 seconds. Please brace for deceleration.”_ Munin’s voice echoed from multiple speakers across the entire ship this time, signaling their arrival.

The Admiral smirked as the pre-mission jitters finally left, the reality of the situation settling in. He gripped the armrests of his chair as the window to real space opened and Dulerce A, the bright yellow star half the size of Sol and the central star of the Dulerce system came into view. Across the entire ship, the cockpit and windows automatically polarized to protect the crew’s eyes, significantly dimming the star’s light.

The _FCCS Valhalla_ dropped out of Witchspace, the massive Capital-class Carrier ship illuminated by the star. Over a kilometer long, titanium reinforced plating down its hull, the arrow-like mega-ship gleamed metallic gray in the starlight. Boasting launch pads for 16 ships, a crew of 100 personnel and thousands of automated robots, 2 separate Artificial Intelligences to handle the internal workings and fleet, and facilities to rival some cities, the _Valhalla_ was a marvel of engineering, technical prowess, and economic might.

The entire ship shuddered as they decelerated into Supercruise, the Frame Shift Drive’s secondary FTL travel, designed for intrasystem jumps. When humanity first discovered FTL travel by warping space time, not unlike Alcubierre drives, their initial iteration was slow and cumbersome compared to modern FTL. Travel between planets took minutes, travel between stars hours and days. But it wasn’t until the Sirius Corporation released the standard Frame Shift Drive that hyperspace, or witchspace, was open to travel by humanity.

_“Supercruise. Estimated Top Speed for jump: 20c. ETA to Kazantsev Dock: seven minutes,”_ Munin announced.

The _Valhalla_ began to yaw and roll to the right of Dulerce A, directed by Munin and Captain Cambell at the helm, until the ship was heading for the specified space station. The HUD showed the distance to the station at 138,730 light seconds, steadily decreasing as Campbell throttled up the _Valhalla’s_ oversized FSD. The speedometer on the right side of the radar display steadily climbed up from 0.10c. 

When travelling faster than lightspeed, kilometers become so small that they are pointless. The next distance measurement is megameters, or a million meters, followed by light seconds, the distance light travels in one second. Velocity measurements have to be adjusted as well, ‘kph’ being meaningless when you are moving faster than 300 million kilometers per hour. All modern ship systems use ‘c’ to denote the speed of light, and adding a multiple in front of it gives you your speed in ‘times lightspeed,’ with the _Valhalla_ getting up to ‘20c’, or 20 times the speed of light, for this short jump to the station.

“Alright, Lieutenant. Time for the briefing,” Alexander ordered, nodding to his Communications Officer.

She nodded in return and keyed the intercom system, a brief jingle playing throughout the ship, alerting everyone to listen. She took a breath to steady herself, and then calmly and clearly, began speaking. 

“Attention Valkyries. Our mission today is the rescue and liberation of Kazantsev Dock from pirates of an unknown faction. Details are sparse, but what we do know is that there are casualties and injuries on the station that need evac. Transport and Support Teams will be focusing on the evacuation of the station’s critically injured civilians. The _Loki_ and _Jord_ have been reconfigured to allow for medical transport, allowing us to maximize our transport capacity. The Assault Team will be handling the pirates. Recon will provide intel and support for Assault. Expect heavy fighting. We can’t rescue everyone, but we can hold the line until reinforcements arrive. A Federation fleet is on its way to take over for us, due in-system within two to three hours. So let’s do this right and get everyone home safe.”

As she signed off the briefing, cheers and shouts of excitement from many of the crew of the _Valhalla_ could be heard echoing through the ship. The Admiral smiled softly to himself as he listened to the radio feeds from his crew, the excitement contagious.

It was time, once again, to right the scales.

* * *

“All I’m saying, Irebro, is that while beef jerky has superior protein content, the smoothness of a Colby Jack string cheese can’t be beat! Plus it’s good luck on a mission!”

The pilot of the Folkvang Corp. Assault Ship _Heimdall_ , Chris Boyd, or ‘Cheese’ as the rest of the crew called him, sat in his pilot’s chair, one leg over the side, unwrapping one of his usual snacks while arguing with the Navigation/Communication Specialist, Isenham R. Brockenbrough, callsign ‘Irebro.’

To Boyd’s left, Brockenbrough, a mid-height ginger, was hunched over the touchscreen holographic interface, his face lit up by the neon orange of the holographics. Without looking up, he opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by a tearing sound to their right. Cheese and Irebro turned to look at the noise. 

In the third seat, their gunner, Charles ‘Mack’ Mackinaw, held a fist full of cheese sticks and beef jerky, occasionally taking large bites of both snacks as he checked the ship’s guns on his chair’s interface. The pilot and NAVCOM stared at Mackinaw for a couple of seconds before he looked up at them, the silence alerting him. He chewed a couple of times and swallowed.

“Or, ya know, both. Both is good.” Mackinaw said, extending his fistfull of snacks to them, offering some to them.

_"Are you dickheads on about snacks again? We've had this discussion before and it never ends well,"_ the voice of one of the _Heimdall_ ’s fighter pilots, Silas ‘Smoke’ Anderson, sounded out over SHIPCOM. “ _Remember the last time Mack ate that tub of sugar-free gummy bears on a dare? Never again.”_

_“Exiting Supercruise in thirty seconds,”_ Munin announced, her voice ringing out across all of the ships in the fleet.

_“Gentlemen, as much as I enjoy recalling the ‘Secondary Propulsion System’ story, put a sock in it. We drop in thirty. All crews report in.”_ The stern voice over FLEETCOM belonged to the Wing Commander of the Valkyries, one Lieutenant Commander Arnold Briggs, an ex-military commander recruited by the Admiral himself.

“Copy that, Arby. This chicken is in the oven and ready to be baked. _Heimdall_ confirmed ready for launch." Boyd stated as he sat up straight in his pilot’s chair, flicking switches, prepping the ship. Brockenbrough smirked as he finished his flight plan, sending it over to the pilot’s station, muttering “We have the meats,” under his breath as the Wing Commander’s nickname was said.

_“Odin reporting. Green across the board,”_ the smooth voice of the pilot of the lead ship, Marvin ‘Codd’ Coddiwomple followed.

_"Thor reporting in, ready to rumble,"_ Matthew ‘Beach’ Beeks called out next.

_“Loki reporting in. Retrofit complete, ready for passenger transport.”_ The faint German accent of Manfred ‘Baron’ Weber sounded out.

_“Jord reporting the same.”_ Tucker ‘Twinkletoes’ Finch, pilot of the fleet’s miner ship, sounded eager as he gave his report over FLEETCOM.

The rest of the ships in the fleet called out over the radio, signalling their confirmation of readiness. Once Lt. Commander Briggs had full confirmation, he made a fleetwide announcement.

_“Valkyries are hot, Admiral. Ready to jump into hell!”_ His triumphant and proud voice echoed through the ship, just as it had dozens of times before, the cheers following bring smiles to everyone’s faces.

_“Exiting Supercruise in five… four… three… two… one… Exiting FTL. Brace for Deceleration.”_ Munin’s announcement sounded out, and all of the cheering died as the crew braced.

* * *

Kazantsev Dock, one of the prolific Coriolis-class space stations, a cuboctahedral structure two kilometers in diameter, hung in orbit around Dulerce D 6, a rocky planet with no atmosphere, the titanium grey of her hull sparkling in the sunlight from the main star.

The pirates that were swarming her exterior and blockading her entrance port looked like tiny gnats compared to the hulking monstrosity of the station, but their teeth were sharp, their lasers and bullets melting and tearing through her skin like a knife through butter.

The captain of the pirate crew sat above the swarm, watching his men and women terrorize and disable fleeing ships, chuckling as they had their fun. He was counting on the governor of the station giving into their demands any time now. With any luck, they’d all be millions of credits richer within a couple of minutes.

A blaring alarm broke him from his musings, and made him sit up straight as the message played out over the speakers.

**_“WARNING: Capital Class Signature Detected!”_ **

The captain stared at the dark cloud and static electricity that exploded outward ten kilometers from the station. An enormous and deep resounding bass hum echoed across all of the ships and the station, the internal plating and structures bending and warping slightly as the _Valhalla_ exited hyperspace, her spacial wake distorting the space around the exit.

The Valkyries had arrived. The pirate captain scrambled to alert his crew, trying to ignore the warm and wet feeling seeping into his pants as fear consumed him, his body responding in the only way it could.

* * *

“All crews reporting in, Admiral,” Lieutenant Williams announced as she studied her station’s monitors. “Beginning close-range scan.”

She reached for a toggle on one of her displays, and flipped the switch, powering on the _Valhalla_ ’s powerful sensor array. Capable of identifying IFF tags thousands of lightseconds away, the sensor array began tagging all ships within a twenty kilometer radius, listing each one it found as the reports came back, including details of ship make and model, number of crew, and the modules present on each ship.

Williams hit another button, a toggle for FLEETCOM, before speaking, “Commander Briggs, sensor sweep complete. Scans show thirty-one hostile ships. Transferring data to the Fleet. Please be aware, the system has flagged three _Anacondas_ as hostile. Target with prejudice.”

There was no reply from the Wing Commander, only a flash of green on the COMM panel under his indicator, showing that he heard and understood. Williams nodded to herself and passed the sensor data to the NAVCOM channels for the individual ship NAVCOMs to analyze and claim targets.

Different ships had different values on bounties, and with over thirty targets, there was more than enough for everyone. The three _Anacondas_ , however, were prime targets; the third most expensive ship in the Bubble, the most versatile, and a competent fighter if engineered properly. And they almost always had pilots with high bounties. It was going to be a good payday for the Valkyries.

Williams looked up from her station as Munin announced, _“Attention: Fleet Departure. Please stand clear of bay doors.”_

She watched with a smile on her face as the docking bay doors on the top deck of the _Valhalla_ opened wide, sixteen ships of various sizes rising out of her lower levels. The closest to the Command Deck were the enormous and bulky _Type-10 Defenders_ , the _Loki_ , the fleet’s Fuel Transport, or ‘Fuel Rat’ as some of the crew called it, and the mining ship, _Jord_ . Neither ship had much in the way of weapons, but what they lacked in fire power and maneuverability, they more than made up for in sheer armor and shield strength. The _Type-10 Defenders_ were built to take a pounding and keep smiling; over a hundred and eighteen meters long, and even wider than that, they were absolute monsters.

Next came the Fleet’s Assault Team, a set of four massive _Federal Corvettes_ , the smallest warship in the Federation Navy, each loaded to bear, with their own internal hanger for two single seater fighters. The _Odin_ , the pride and lead ship of the fleet, was rigged for maximum firepower and armor, an oversized powerplant and reflective ablative hull installed to maximise damage output and heat loss. The _Thor_ , rigged with engineered laser cannons for stripping enemy shields as well as the fleet’s main missile battery, was designed to soften the enemy up while raining hellfire upon them. The _Heimdall_ was rigged for maximum speed and the fastest FSD boot time in the fleet. Cheese and Irebro had a tendency to rush into the battle and utilize FSD warp in short bursts, creating chaos amongst the enemies as Mack took out enemy ships with extreme precision. The _Tyr_ , rigged for maximum shields, covered with shield boosters, and internally installed shield cells, as well as a forward hull reinforcement, was designed to ram and pierce enemy ships at speed, using the mass of the ship as a weapon.

_“All ships, form standard barrel formation, tight fit.”_ Briggs ordered.

In front of the Assault Team was the fleet’s Transport Team, a pair of _Anacondas_ , currently rigged for passenger transport, and the fleet’s Support Team, a set of four _Pythons_ , little brothers to the _Anacondas_ . The _Balder_ and the _Nepsdottir_ , sparkling against the dark of the void, rose off the top deck, immediately getting flanked in a box formation by the _Daain_ , _Dvalinn_ , _Duneyrr_ , and the _Durathor_ , the Support Team taking position around the Transports to provide cover. The Support Team had been refitted to support a wide variety of roles, from Assault and Defense, to Transport and Repair. In this mission, the _Pythons_ would be providing defense of the larger ships, as well as spare room for transporting refugees.

Finally, the Recon Team rose rapidly and igniting their boost, rocketed off into the void, the stealth recon ship _Hodr_ , a small _Diamondback Explorer_ , jumping silently into SuperCruise for a split second, appearing on the other side of the station to monitor from the other end of the playing field. The _Hermodr_ , a custom engineered _Viper_ built to be the fastest ship in the fleet, hovered above the amassing fleet, waiting for the signal to race in. The _Ullr_ , a _Vulture_ , armed to the teeth, moved to the front of the formation, the speedy craft zipping into the place to form the tip of the spear. The _Njord_ , another _Diamondback Explorer,_ hung back, lazily orbiting the _Valhalla_ , providing cover for the Carrier.

_“Loki moving into position,”_ ‘Baron’ Weber called out as the large ship swung around, fitting in adjacent to the Transport Anacondas, the _Jord_ moving in opposite.

_“Transport Craft, close ranks, as tight as possible. We need maximum coverage. Assault team, outer wings. Support, close in tight.”_ Wing Commander Briggs ordered from the flight deck of the _Valhalla_ , his indicator light on Lieutenant Williams’ display flashing to yellow as a command was given. She watched as the responding lights from all of the ships responded green, confirming the order.

She looked up at the assembling fleet, the large titanium hulls glistening in the sunlight, moving with purpose settling into formation, the Assault _Corvettes_ forming a loose ring around the tightly packed ships, ready to bring the fight.

_“Admiral, all ships in formation, beginning operation.”_ Briggs’ voice called from the Admiral’s station, prompting Williams to look back at him.

“Confirmed, Commander. Godspeed.” Admiral Alexander answered confidently, nodding to the Lieutenant.

She nodded back, and opened a channel to the station, waiting for the other end to pick up.

_“Valkyries, go max thrust. We’re needed at that station yesterday!”_ Briggs called out.

_“Punching it!”_ Ned ‘Gamer’ Powers, pilot of the _Tyr_ , called out with several whoops and hollers from the rest of the crew following after. _  
  
_

Off to the starboard side of the _Valhalla_ , the engines from fourteen ships flared to life, enormous gouts of exhaust and fire blasted backwards, launching the Valkyries into glorious battle once more.

* * *

“Kazantsev Dock Flight Control, this is the _Valhalla_ , please respond. I repeat, Kazantsev Dock Flight Control, this is _Valhalla_ COM, please respond.”

Lieutenant Williams released the mic button and listened intently for any sign that the station’s flight control personnel was still around.

She glanced at the Admiral, who was watching her with concern, nodding as she caught his eye. This was the most important part of the operation right now. Without approval to actually enter the station, the station’s shielded gateway wouldn’t let them in, leaving them outside with no cover.

“Kazantsev Dock Flight Control, please respond, this is the _Valhalla_ , on standby, requesting priority access to the station.” She announced, pressing the mic button again, releasing it with a huff of impatience.

There was a burst of static over the channel, and a male voice sounded out, with a practiced flight controller inflection, calm and measured.

_“FCSS Valhalla, this is KD Flight Control, we read you. Showing fifteen ships on rapid approach to the station. Request for access to the Dock approved. All open docking pads are yours. Be aware, pirates are crowding the chute.”_

Williams sighed in relief, and keyed the mic again, “Acknowledged, FC, much appreciated. Please alert your medical staff to prep for triage and immediate evac. The fleet is burning hot and itching for a race.”

_“Understood. You have our thanks, Valhalla. Signing off.”_

Lieutenant Williams closed the channel, and opened FLEETCOM and direct line to Briggs, “Briggs, Entrance Approval granted. Open pads are available for docking, medical staff will be ready to load as soon as Transport Team lands.”

_“10-4, Valhalla COM. Assigning pads.”_ Briggs stated, flashing his indicator light. A moment later, the eight lights of Teams Transport and Support flashed.

_“Alright, people. Get ready for formation shift. Line up with the mail slot and let’s do this nice and pretty!”_ Briggs called out to the fleet.

Williams joined the rest of the bridge crew in watching the view screen, showing the _Valhalla_ fleet rapidly approaching the station from a remote robotic camera, deployed after the _Valhalla_ jumped next to the station. All Fleet actions were recorded for insurance and entertainment, with many news and production companies paying handsomely for good footage of the Valkyries’ many feats.

When the fleet crossed the five kilometer mark to the station, the formation, travelling at over 300 meters per second, began to shift.

The Recon team at the front and the Transport team in the center accelerated, slowly stretching the formation from a wide barrel to a line, each ship right in front of the other, with the Assault and Support ships continuing to circle the group.

_“Heads up, Beach, we’re ridin’ your tail close enough to make ya nervous.”_ Cheese sounded out over FLEETCOM, his calm demeanor and humor when flying usually helped put the rest of the crew at ease. That was until he pulled some hijinx that involved sub-kilometer FSD jumps, or “desperate retreats” as he was known to call them, giving the entire crew pause when he got himself in trouble.

There were a couple of chuckles shared amongst the crew as they raced towards the station, each team member focused on the surgical insertion that was about to happen. The slightest miscalculation or bumped joystick would mean the end of a very short trip as their ship slammed into the titanium hull of the station at blistering speed.

_“All Ships, Enemy Contact in ten seconds. Get ready to deploy hardpoints. Assault Leader, prioritize the ‘Condas.”_ Briggs ordered as the fleet crossed the three kilometer mark. The crews watched with anticipation as the station got closer, growing larger in the windows, as the pirates began approaching rapidly, intent on meeting them head on, defending their claim.

When the pirates were one kilometer from the fleet, Briggs sounded out again, _“Assault Team, deploy hardpoints! Set up for Peel-Back Maneuver!”_ The four Assault Carriers, the _Odin_ , _Thor_ , _Heimdall_ , and the _Tyr_ began deploying their guns, panels of the hull sliding back and exposing their internal weapons; massive chainguns, lasers, and torpedo tubes rose out of the hulls, primed and ready to unleash devastation upon anyone they targeted.

As soon as they were in weapons range, the pirates began firing everything they had at the fleet, lasers and multicannons flashing as their ammo and energy was expended. But the interior ring of transport ships never felt a single round, the overlapping coverage of the Assault and Support Ships’ shields, the lasers absorbed and round bouncing off of the shields harmlessly.

* * *

Mack, strapped in tight in his gunner’s chair on the _Heimdall_ , keyed the release of the safeties, and cracked his knuckles as he eyed several targets and began to mentally form firing paths as their shields were peppered with the incoming fire.

“Cheese, after peel-back, high roll right into a loop around the ventral side of the Dock. Follow up with blast back to central position.” Mack said aloud, passing his recommendation to Cheese, his expertise in gunnery and flight maneuvers ensuring the densest fights, as well as the most kills.

Cheese watched the station and pirates as they approached and smiled as he saw what Mack was looking for, flying their heavily armored and teethed warship right through the center of the buzzing pirates. “How good do you think the fishing is this round?” He called over his shoulder to his gunner as he began prepping for the high G burn, flipping switches, disabling some systems to gain extra power.

Mack chuckled, “Fifteen easy. If you yaw left 30 degrees after the blast back, I can make it seventeen.”

Cheese whistled, before chuckling softly, “I like those odds. Get ready,” he called out as he sat up in the chair, ready to make their move.

* * *

The fleet was one kilometer from the ‘mail slot’ of the station now, with only a handful of seconds to go, taking hits from all sides, their thrusters pushed to the max.

_“Alright, let’s do this!”_ Briggs called out over FLEETCOM, _“PEEL BACK!”_

The yawning maw of that station lay before the fleet as they rocketed towards it. In a coordinated and well practiced maneuver, the Assault Team peeled up and away from the fleet, flitting over the meters thick titanium hull with a meter or two to spare. The Transport ships slipped right through the opening, a small rectangle 222 meters wide and 52 meters high at 300 kilometers per second, the larger ship crews praying the paint would remain intact from their stunt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think in the comments!
> 
> Shoutout to my betas! Thank you for your hard work!
> 
> You can find me hanging out on Discord at [Epsi's Hoard.](https://discord.gg/thehoard)
> 
> [My Twitter](https://twitter.com/mightymackinac)
> 
> [About Mighty Mackinac](https://about.me/mighty.mackinac)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Valhalla Internal Comms](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23680345) by [Matrex](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Matrex/pseuds/Matrex)




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